Jade's Spirit (Blue Collar Boyfriends Book 2)

by Jessi Gage

  He anchored his hands on her hips and touched his forehead to hers. They’d danced closer than this on Friday night. It had felt right then. Now, it felt…confusing. And why did he have to smell so edible? His aftershave plus the scent of fresh coffee made her mouth water. She wanted to lick him. Nibble him. God. This guy was too hot just to be friends with. Could that kiss have meant he was taking back the offer of friendship and offering more instead?

  His eyes were wary, but his lips—his amazing, delicious lips—were smiling crookedly. “I like you, Jade.”

  “As a friend?”

  “Hell, no.”

  She should push him away for making her feel so confused, but his thumbs were doing this soothing massaging thing over her hipbones. She pushed with her words instead. “You have a funny way of showing a girl you like her. You kick all your dates out of the car and burn rubber the second their feet hit pavement?”

  He sighed through his nose. He kept one hand on her hip and shoved the other through his hair. “Jade—” He inhaled. “Man, that coffee smells good. Why don’t we sit?”

  He led her back to the table, set her coffee down in front of her, and plucked a mug from her cabinets. He moved around her kitchen like he felt completely at home. “I didn’t burn rubber,” he said as he poured his coffee. He took it black.

  “Well, you sure didn’t walk me to the doorstep and give me a kiss either. Don’t try telling me you weren’t in a hurry to get rid of me.”

  He pulled up the chair beside hers and drummed his fingers on his mug. He looked like he was trying not to squirm.

  She really, really wanted to see him squirm. It was the least he could do after what he’d put her through. “If it wasn’t my dancing, then what’s the deal? Why did Mr. Hot-Dancer turn into an ice cube?”

  He readjusted his position in the chair, and she nearly bounced with glee. She did it! She made him squirm! She could get used to being direct.

  He gave her the half smile, the one with the lone dimple, the one that was sweet and sinful all at the same time. But this half smile came with a hint of embarrassed blush. “I can see how you thought I was backing off because of your dancing. But that wasn’t it. Well, not the way you’re thinking.” He sipped his coffee and she mirrored him. “I guess I kind of freaked because I liked dancing with you so much.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It does if you know I’m a virgin and dancing with you almost made me come in my Levi’s.”

  She choked on her coffee. A full minute of unattractive coughing and several good thumps on her back by Emmett, and she finally said, “Get out! Like a real virgin? You’ve never had sex?”

  She’d assumed he would be weird about sex, but not having it? That was even weirder than she’d thought.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m saving myself for marriage.”

  Now she was squirming in her chair. She suddenly felt uncomfortable, like maybe he thought she wanted to debauch him or whatever virginal church boys feared.

  Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she managed, “I don’t know what to say. Should I be offended? Should I be relieved? What do you want from me here?”

  “I just want you to listen. I’ve been trying to figure things out the past few days, and I decided I like you. A lot. But I’m not sure we’d be very compatible in a relationship. I like hanging out with you, though. You’re easy to talk to and fun to be around.”

  So after that kiss, he was going to try going back to “friends.” Anger made her face hot. The only thing keeping her from telling him to get out and never come back was curiosity about the whole virgin thing.

  How could a guy look and act like Emmett and be a virgin? He wasn’t even that young. The faint lines around his eyes put him closer to thirty than twenty. This had to be some kind of record or miracle or something. She was witnessing a miracle. A gorgeous, confident, late-twenties virgin.

  Emmett stood up to pace the kitchen. Running his hand through his hair, he said, “I came here this morning all set to tell you I want us to be friends, like really, not just saying it. I want to hang out with you, joke around with you, you know? Then I see you sleeping in your car and looking beautiful and skittish, and I can’t stop thinking how I just want to hold you and protect you from the spiders or the dark or whatever has you so afraid.”

  He faced her, his hands splayed helplessly. “Could it work with us? Could we date and not, you know, do it?”

  “First, that’s really sweet what you said about me being beautiful and wanting to protect me. Second, screw you for thinking I can’t date a guy unless he puts out. That’s really offensive. Third, why the hell wouldn’t it work? I like you, too. A lot. Even though I must be some kind of moron for it. But you’re on thin ice with me, mister. I’ll have you know that just because I used to make a living taking off my clothes, doesn’t mean I can’t keep my pants on when necessary.”

  That earned her two dimples, but the smile didn’t last. “It’s not your pants I’m worried about.” He made a V with his hands so they formed an arrow pointing at his crotch. “I’ve got like a decade of pent up frustration here, and I don’t know if I can keep it up much longer, but I’ve got to.” He shook his head and flopped back into his chair, thumping his fist on the table. “I’ve just got to. I can’t explain it.”

  His vulnerability took the wind out of her sails. She could relate to sticking by something you decided to believe in years ago. Like not trusting a man’s promises. She’d been young when she made that promise to herself. And she’d stuck by it, even though it was hard sometimes.

  “I get it.” She covered his fist with her hand. Just because she thought it was a crazy decision didn’t mean she couldn’t respect it. “It’s important to you to be…chaste—” Her mouth paused on the foreign word. “But it’s challenging. I can understand that. You’ve disciplined yourself for so long, and you don’t want to throw it all away. I’m a little...” She stuck out her chin instead of ducking her face like she was tempted to. “Spicier than girls you probably usually date, so you’re worried it might be even harder with me than, say, Chelsea, Erin, or Mara.” She grinned, hoping he would get the light-hearted barb.

  “Yeah,” he said. “That’s it exactly.” His smile was one she hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t flirtatious or smoldering or confident. It was sweet and sincere, thankful. It made her heart pump extra hard for a couple beats

  God help her. She was falling for a church boy.

  They sipped their coffee in silence for a few minutes, eyeing each other like neither of them knew what to do next. Then Emmett plunked down his mug and said, “So, what do I have to do to get off that thin ice?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you ought to run your Zamboni over it a time or two. Oh! God! I can’t believe I just said that.” She slapped her hands over her mouth, mortified.

  He laughed. “It’s okay to joke with me. I’m a virgin, not a little kid.”

  She lowered her hands. “That wasn’t just a joke. That was a double entendre, and I should have known better. In my defense, I used to hang around with a lot of pervs. If you ever meet them, don’t tell them I called them that.”

  “Deal. And seriously, don’t worry about it. It was funny. You’re funny.” He sat back in his chair looking as relaxed as she’d seen him since the morning she’d first met him. He picked up her hand and linked their fingers, resting their joined hands on his thigh. “And gorgeous. And an awesome dancer. And a really sweet girl.” He grinned. “My girl?” He made it a question.

  Her tummy tightened pleasantly. No guy had ever complimented her as much as Emmett, especially if they knew they weren’t going to be getting any. For that matter, not many had ever shown much interest in her beyond the sexual.

  It felt so old fashioned. She had a weird impulse to throw herself into his arms black-and-white-movie style and say, “Yeah, baby, I’m your girl,” but instead, she finished her coffee and said, “That depends. Can you handle
me? I mean, you have to know I’m no virgin. I’m not dancing any more, but I was right up until I moved here. I did it for three years to get through school. I mean, I do like you, and I want to date you more, but we’re pretty different, you and me.”

  “Oh, I can handle you. Don’t worry about that, little girl.” He waggled his brows.

  His confidence was off the charts sexy. Her vagina contracted at his words. Shit. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  He rested one sculpted forearm on the table while his opposite thumb rubbed over her knuckles. “Now, are you going to tell me why you were sleeping in your car? What’s got you so freaked out? And don’t tell me ‘spider.’ I’m not buying it.”

  She couldn’t stop caressing him with her eyes. The man was perfectly built. His lips looked so kissable. His face was clean-shaven and begged to be nuzzled. His hair was stylishly mussed, and his eyes were tender with concern. It was like knowing she couldn’t have him made him infinitely more attractive, and he’d been damn attractive to begin with.

  She hopped up from the table like her pants were on fire. What the hell she was thinking signing on for a sexless relationship with a hottie like Emmett?

  “We can talk about my spider problem later. On the phone.” Yes, yes. The phone would be safe. She backed away from the hunk of masculinity radiating waves of sexiness from her kitchen table. “Don’t you have to go sweep?”

  He got up with sinuous grace and stalked her as she backed out of the kitchen and into the hall. She held up a hand, palm out like a shield against his sex appeal.

  He grinned like a wolf who’d spied his prey. “You’re trying to change the subject.” He reached out to her outstretched hand and laced his fingers through hers, making her breath hitch.

  Damn that little half smile of his, and double damn the twinkle in his eye that told her he knew just the effect he had on her.

  “No I wasn’t.” She kept backing up until she hit the foot of the stairs. “I was just curious. I mean, could you pick up your dry cleaning, swing by the post office, you know, get your errands done while you sweep?” With a quick motion she wrenched her hand out of his and ran up the stairs to get some breathing space.

  He gave chase and stopped her by snagging her hand again before she could retreat into the bathroom.

  “I don’t own anything that needs to be dry cleaned, and the parking spaces at the post office aren’t big enough to park the sweeper.” He drew her close and put his mouth over her ear.

  Oh, God, he smelled like heaven. She wanted to shove him into her bedroom, tear off his shirt, and lap him up.

  When his breath rushed hot over her ear with his whispered, “Why were you sleeping in your car?” she yipped and jumped back, slamming the bathroom door in his face.

  Through the door, she heard the bastard chuckle and say, “Fine. I’ll just take a look around, find this famous spider of yours.”

  “Fine. You do that.”

  “I will,” he called, and from the direction of his voice, she could tell he was going into the master bedroom.

  “Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” she muttered to herself as she locked the door and freshened up. How was she going to keep her hands off of her new boyfriend? Why had she agreed to this? Oh, yeah, because she liked him. And he liked her. And no one had ever just told her that before. Always before, it had been about games, and the prize had always been sex.

  Emmett wasn’t a player. And that was the sexiest damn thing she’d ever encountered.

  She should call this off. It wasn’t going to work.

  But that would be running away.

  Sitting on the lid of the toilet, she put her head in her hands. Dating Emmett was going to be the toughest thing she’d ever done.

  Chapter 13

  After finishing up in the bathroom, Jade took a deep breath and opened the door. So far, Emmett was proving to be worth the challenge of being in a sexless relationship. Surely she could go without for the year she’d decided to stay in Vermont. Maybe it would even be good for her. A relationship with Emmett would be far from traditional, but then traditional relationships hadn’t exactly been working for her.

  Following the sounds of rummaging, she found Emmett in her closet with a feather boa around his neck and a hot-pink pimp hat perched on his head. Despite the draw of the colorful ensemble, her gaze zeroed in on his granite ass.

  Lucky damn jeans.

  “I don’t see any spiders in here,” he said with his back to her. “But, wow, cute clothes.” He pulled out a strappy, satiny shirt with a deep cowl neckline. “Wear this tonight, okay?”

  “Tonight?”

  “I’m taking you out to dinner. Got to get off that thin ice, and my Zamboni’s all locked up.” He waggled his brows. “So I figure a nice dinner ought to do the trick.”

  Wow. She was touched. She would love to have dinner with him, but she probably shouldn’t wear that shirt. A turtleneck and ankle length skirt might be smarter; too bad she didn’t own anything that modest. Seeing Emmett fingering some of her skimpy lingerie, her cheeks warmed.

  “You’re getting sweats and holey socks if you don’t get out of my closet this second.”

  He kept pawing through her wardrobe. She grabbed him around the waist and tried to wrestle him out. Without cowboy boots, he was around six-one. And he was in good shape. Boy howdy, was he in good shape. He didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, and his muscled torso moved like a sensual promise under her hands. After much twisting, dodging, and giggling, she somehow ended up sandwiched between his hard body and the wall of the closet.

  Their eyes locked and their laughter died.

  His gaze took her breath away. It was the kind of look guys give girls in romantic comedies, but not in real life, or so she’d thought. She’d always dreamed about being on the receiving end of that kind of all-in, head-over-heels look, but she’d written it off as an impossible fantasy.

  When Emmett bent down and claimed her lips with a tender, closed-mouth kiss, she nearly moaned at the undiluted adoration washing over her.

  She’d kissed her share of men, but not a single one had made her feel half as special as Emmett did. Maybe it was because she knew his kiss wasn’t just a stepping stone to something more.

  Balling her fists at his waist, she did her dead level best not to take control of the kiss. She let him drive and trusted him to draw the line wherever he needed to.

  That was a mistake.

  His arms came around her. He backed her out of the closet and to the edge of the bed. In a heartbeat he had her on her back on the comforter and was crawling over her, nibbling her lips as if the air were poisonous and her breath the only antidote.

  She wasn’t made of stone. In her head, she knew sex was off limits, and in her heart, she was on board with that. But a lower and needier part of her anatomy was doing the thinking now.

  When his tongue sought entry, she opened to him, and the kiss grew. He settled between her legs and lowered his chest to hers, crushing her breasts until they ached to be freed and fondled. She wrapped her legs around his hips, trapping the hard ridge behind his zipper right where she wanted it.

  Oh, man. He might be inexperienced, but Emmett was bound to be a fantastic lover. For some girl. Some day.

  He groaned and broke the kiss, panting.

  Every one of her instincts urged her to reclaim that sinful mouth, but she forced herself to be still while Emmett brought himself under control. She tried to think un-sexy thoughts. It was a challenge with his erection hot and heavy against her pelvis, restrained by denim and will power.

  Holding himself a little off her, he said, “Why do I do this to myself?”

  “Why do you?” she asked. “I mean, I’m not knocking it and I’m definitely not trying to change your mind—” To emphasize her point, she wriggled out from under him and sat against the headboard, putting a good two feet of distance between them. “But what’s so great about virginity?”

  He stood awkwardly and turned away. Tho
ugh he was being discreet, she could tell he was pressing the heel of his palm over his erection. It had to be agony, getting hard like that without even the hope of relieving the pressure.

  “You know I’m a Christian,” he said, half turning to see her.

  She nodded.

  “Well, a big part of that is believing what the Bible says is true. I’m not saying I’ve avoided everything the Bible says is wrong—I’ve lied before, I covet my neighbor’s forty-two-inch plasma TV, I put myself before the Lord more than I care to admit—but I’ve tried to be a good Christian. Having sex outside of marriage just seemed like one thing I could definitely control. It felt good to promise God and myself I wouldn’t, you know, fornicate. It’s been hard, but it’s helped keep me humble and keep me depending on Him more than myself.”

  He leaned on the bedpost at the foot of the bed. His cheeks were pink. His eyes shone with arousal and vulnerability at the same time. He was heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

  She resisted the temptation to look down to see if he’d fully recovered or not. “That’s great,” she said. “I’m happy for you if that’s what floats your boat.” She could respect a person who made sacrifices for what they believed in.

  “But,” he prompted.

  “But if you’re going to give me those bedroom eyes and kiss me like that, I don’t know if I can support you in this goal of yours as well as I’d like to. I don’t want to be the girl who ruins it for you. You know?”

  He came to sit with her on the bed.

  She tensed as he encouraged her into his arms, but didn’t resist.

  “You’re telling me I need to back off a little?”

  She snorted. “I don’t want you to. I like when you touch me. I love when you kiss me. But, I don’t know, maybe we need some rules or something.”

  “Oh, I’ve got a rule. We haven’t broken it yet.”

  “What do you mean, yet?” she asked, offended.

  “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s the truth. We haven’t broken my rule yet. That’s all. It’s a statement about the present with no presumptions about the future.”